


If You Love Me

by 13thDoctor, JHarkness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Needs a Hug, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Natasha, Stargazing, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Trust Issues, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, War, twin death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/pseuds/13thDoctor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of mostly unrelated ficlets from prompts on tumblr that were too short for their own post. It will continue to be added to as more prompts come in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clintasha #1

**Author's Note:**

> Our askbox is still open at daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com. These were specific prompts based on line asks, but feel free to suggest whatever suits your fancy. Thank you, and please enjoy! Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Here are the specific prompts, if you're curious:  
> http://daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com/post/119467422023/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a  
> and  
> http://daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com/post/118141560438/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill

“I just really need to have you here right now.”- clintasha

...

Natasha‘s phone rang next to her ear, shrill and sudden in the early hours of the morning. Her body shifted toward the noise, eyes adjusting uncomfortably to the bright screen in her dark bedroom. She responded immediately, as any agent should, easily pulling herself from soft slumber as she unlocked the device and pressed it to her ear.

“Romanoff,” she affirmed after recognizing the SHIELD caller ID.

“Tasha, I don’t, I need, I think–”

“Clint?”

Heart pounding in her ears, Natasha leaped gracefully out of bed, the mattress creaking with the unexpected departure. She focused on the labored breathing on the other line, mind rapidly creating and then discarding different scenarios of a wounded partner, a battle that couldn’t be won, blood, Clint crawling across uneven pavement, Natasha his only hope… She whispered his name into the receiver, but the only response was a quick inhale and, thankfully, an exhale. She had just started dressing herself when he spoke again.

“I might be having a panic attack,” Agent Barton admitted, his voice low.

Natasha recognized that emotion- shame. It stung to think he was embarrassed to admit such an issue to her, but she knew she would feel the same. They understood each other; they always had. So she pressed her lips in a tight line, closed her eyes to compose her thoughts, and then answered.

“What happened?”

“I finished the mission in Cuba.”

Natasha grimaced. She knew the parameters of that assignment as well as it had been her own. The two agents had spent hours pouring over the documents after the team had begged them to find an alternative to assassination. They knew it would be messy, would bring too many casualties, but they were spies, and spies excepted the risks and moved on. Clint had had trouble moving on lately.

“How many?” She asked, knowing their faces were behind his eyelids. He would be washing his face and hands for weeks.

The archer’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, cracked with a lack of oxygen and sleep. “There were kids, Tasha, and I… I tried to get around them, but I was so tired, and there were _so many people…”_

The sound became so faint that Natasha was afraid he passed out, but when she listened harder, she heard his shallow breathing. At least he was still breathing.

“What do you need, Clint?”

She knew what she needed. She needed him to call her over, to let her hold him and make him laugh and watch old movies and lay on his roof and watch the stars fade and the sun rise. She needed him to let her lace their fingers together like the old days, needed his lips to barely touch hers and then to really touch hers, to make her feel again. She needed him to remember how to live.

“I just really need to have you here right now,” he whispered.

“I’m on my way.”

She needed him to be okay.


	2. Stucky #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stucky and “Shit, are you bleeding?!”

He realized, likely too late, that he should have expected this. Steve was not one to shy away from a fight, especially when a bigger guy was involved. Bucky reprimanded himself sternly for his idiocy as he glanced at the window of the cab, watching his best friend run into an alley whilst shouting after a pair of unreasonably large men.

With a sigh, Sergeant Barnes tapped on the driver’s shoulder. “My apologies, sir, but could you drop me off around this corner?” The man looked mildly surprised but shrugged politely, twisting the wheel as he turned into the curb. The yellow of the headlights illuminated the cracked concrete. Shadows of random townies were thrown across the light, creating eery shapes of dancing and laughter and drunk stumbling.

Bucky stepped quickly into the alleyway. The sudden introduction of complete darkness made him pause, resting his hand on the cool bricks of the cafe as his eyes adjusted to the black.

As he righted himself, Bucky heard a shout and the unmistakable click of a switchblade. Fear gripped him; intense, deep, painful. He knew Steve would always get back up. He had to get back up.

Sweat coating his palms, Bucky ran. His boots were deafening against the pavement, yet Steve’s assailants took no notice, all attention on the vulnerable man standing up in defiance.

”Little queer,” one of the men spat. A stream of blood fell from his nose as he snarled, staring at Steve like a ravenous animal. Bucky would have felt proud of his friend–the other man was groaning, hunched on the ground cupping between his thighs–except Steve was backed into the corner, breathing heavily and clutching his side.

A thought never crossed Bucky’s mind that wasn’t incoherent noise in that moment. He lunged, calloused knuckles connecting with meaty flesh. The man’s hot breath escaped his lungs swiftly, surprise on Bucky’s side. He raised his fists again, and then again, composure gone as he watched Steve falling lower in his peripheral vision.

He wasn’t sure how many times he hit him. Ears filled like he was underwater, he almost didn’t notice Steve pleading with him to stop. “Don’t kill him, Buck, you can’t… You have the army…” His breaths were shallow, infrequent.

Bucky released the despicable man from his grip, disgusted that his blood was crusting beneath his nails. “If you touch him again, I will kill you,” he whispered low in the red head’s ear, teeth flashing in a snarl.

He did not have to ask again.

The larger of the two pulled himself painfully from the pavement, grunting with the effort. He grabbed his friend by the shoulder, urging him to go, glancing at Bucky with terror in his green eyes. They limped away, sulking and shaken.

As soon as they left his sight, the Sergeant turned to Steve. His skin was paler than normal, reflecting blue in the night light but also a sicker, raw color. Bucky pressed his hands to his bony sides, panic constricting his throat and making his tongue dry. “Steve? Steve, are you alright? Steve?” He repeated his name, running his hands frantically around the smaller man’s torso and face.

”Well, Buck, if you wanted to get your hands on me you could have just asked.” Steve laughed, eyes bright. Sucking in a short breath and clutching his ribs, he still looked like the sun to Bucky.

”You punk,” he muttered.

”Jerk.”

Bucky laughed, relief washing over him. As he released the breath he did not realize he had been holding, he felt something wet on his shoulder.

”Shit, are you bleeding?” Steve’s eyes widened, face twisting in horror as he stared at the deep red flowing from his companion’s shoulder.

Bucky stared. “I guess I am.” He walked calmly to a crate abandoned by the cafe back door and sat, tilting his head to find a cloth or something to use as binding.

”Here,” Steve offered. He removed his tie, pressing it into a neat bundle before applying it to Bucky’s shoulder, ignoring all protests. His hand folded over the wound, shifting only to allow for Bucky’s to rest on top of it. He smiled, fingers running over Steve’s bruised knuckles ceaselessly.

After minutes of silence stretched by, Bucky finally inquired, “Why’d you do it, anyway?”  
“They were going to hide back here and wait for Betty.”  
Bucky nodded.  
“I couldn’t let that happen.”  
“I know. That’s why I love you.” Bucky leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on Steve’s lips, letting his mouth linger within a breath’s reach as he moved his free hand to Steve’s cheek.  
“Yeah?” The other man asked.  
“Yeah.”


	3. Pietro/Reader #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15 and 20 pietro x reader please  
> 15\. Things you said with too many miles between us:  
> 20\. Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written anyone x reader, so please forgive me. I also switched styles for the second one through so I could get a better sense of the type of writing this requires.

15\. Things you said with too many miles between us:

You always were too far away. Even when we were together, your speed made it impossible to keep you anywhere near me. You are so restless, so passionate, so energetic. I remember once, when you were on a mission, I said “If I only I had an anchor to keep you down.” I could hear your grimace through the phone when you answered, _“If only you would stop managing me.”_

That stung, of course, but how could I not forgive you? You were a bright star in my dull world. Well, a falling star, a trail of dust left in your shining wake.

“Did you mean to leave me behind?” I asked you when you were on the other side of the world.

You hesitated. You, who speaks so fast that people can barely understand you when combined with that beautiful accent. You, who holds a conversation like it’s a race. You hesitated and my heart broke into a million pieces.

 _“No,”_ you replied. I believed you. How could I not believe you? You were handsome and pure. You kept your family with you at all times.

 _“I love you. And I… I’m sorry,”_ you whispered one night through a cell phone. You didn’t even face-time me. You could have made it home in less than an hour, too, not even running. I suppose I can’t blame you. I would have yelled. I always yell.

“That’s it, then? You’re giving up on us.” I knew the answer; I just wanted to hear you say it.

_“I don’t see another option. When do I see you? When do I have ti-”_

I hung up. Who knew the miles between two people could rip them so far apart? How did I not see it coming?

You broke me, Pietro Maximoff. And for some inexplicable reason, I’m still waiting for you to come make me whole again.

 

...

 

20\. Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear:

You press your ear up against the door, ever the curious one, since you were little, they say. You know it’s not your place to listen– the Avengers work in secret for a reason– but you tell yourself it’s only to hear his voice.

If only that were it.

You grimace as your skin catches the scratchy wood of the door. This is what it’s resorted to, you think. Spying on your boyfriend as he meets with his team of superhero buddies. Spying on your boyfriend even when he’s told you, irrevocably, that this is not part of his life he wants you sharing.

You wonder if he wants to share anything, sometimes.

He’s an impulsive little bastard, a quick thinker and a quicker mover. He forgives you faster than you forgive him, but he also gets angrier faster. He never runs away from a fight, though. You do. You can’t stand to see those eyes when you’re mad. You love him and hate him so much in those moments.

“–a liability,” you hear Sam mutter. Your stomach turns to ice as you grow anxious. What if they’re talking about you?

You blink the thought out of existence. Many of the Avengers have significant others; why should you be different? But you still listen.

“That’s not an option.”

Wait, what isn’t? When did you lose track of the conversation? The damn doors are thick and reinforced, and your mind is elsewhere. You grit your teeth and breathe and _focus._

“I don’t leave the people I love.”

Your heart hammers and then drops. Love. Well, that means they _are_ talking about you. Pietro is saying he loves you, which hasn’t happened yet between them. Which doesn’t happen after only two months of short dates and see-you-laters and cut-off phone calls. Which makes you smile like a fool as you back away, satisfied.

So Pietro Maximoff loves you, and you definitely weren’t supposed to hear that.

Maybe, just this once, you’ll beat him to the punch.

 


	4. Stucky #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stucky #18  
> 18\. Things you said when you were scared

He was all sweat and dirt, gauze and knife wounds. All around the troops the ground was exploding, punctured by malicious bombs as Germans dropped them again and again. Steve’s vision flickered between a horrific battle scene and a screen of dirt. Bullets whizzed past his ears, a vile hum within a chorus of screams and explosions. Heart thudding deafeningly in his chest, he frantically searched for the most important face on the line. His eyes found bodies bent in unnatural positions, grime and blood and guns, scared boys fleeing or fighting for their lives. His ears heard them weep and pray, and his stomach twisted in remorse. But he needed to find him, and needed that to be soon.

There.

Down in the trenches, the howling commandos crouched snarling and yelling until their voices were hoarse. Bucky’s face was a mix of terror, rage, glee, and everything in between, a combination only understood and mirrored by men of war. Steve took off at a sprint, desperate to reach him.

The sight of Captain America seemed to reunite the troops. They sprang into step beside him, shooting as they cursed the Nazis. Steve smiled. Victory was not too far.

He jumped into the trench. Some soldiers clambered into the muddy Hell after him, others cleared it on their way past enemy lines, and some held back and continued to fight advancing opponents. Everything was so _loud_. His only chance of focusing was if he found Bucky.

The commandos allowed him through easily. He touched Bucky’s shoulder lightly, knowing anything harder would earn either a flinch or a punch in the face. Bucky turned, and the look painting his features churned Steve’s stomach.

“Buck?” he asked quietly.

His lover leaned against the slippery trench wall and stared silently at him. As he opened his mouth, a long wail split the cacophony of war. He and Bucky met each others eyes with identical looks of fear, recognizing the sound of the bomb. It was too close. Too fast.

Steve’s brain registered one person, one action, and he pushed Bucky down before covering them with his shield. The commandos threw themselves to the ground just as it hit, and then everything stopped and started all at once.

Just before it went black, Steve heard Bucky scream with all his might, “I love you, Steve Rogers! Don’t you dare die on me!”

\---

A year later, The Winter Soldier was haunted by his own voice when they tried to wipe him. A blank slate with indelible words carved into it.

_I love you, Steve Rogers._

They scared him beyond reason.


	5. Clintasha #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clintasha - "Shh, c’mere…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not the best at fluff– I like making characters sad; what can I say- but I will do my best just for you!

The hard ridges of the roof barely made a difference to the comfort of the pair as they laid atop it, bodies side by side and hands lingering near each other. Their calloused, worn fingers traced outlines in the stars as their worn lips mouthed names of real and imaginary constellations. They did not mention the universes above them, the countless alien civilizations just waiting for another rip in space to obliterate Earth.

No. That was for another day. Nights like these were reserved for each other, for kisses and nonsense words and absolutely no discussions of work. Natasha always felt a little constrained by such fluff, but for Clint, she tried. He was worth it. _They_ were worth it.

He knew her too well, though.

Clint shifted to his side and rested his elbow on the roof, his head in his hand. Natasha almost laughed- he looked like some ridiculous model. Somehow sensing her amusement, he quirked a smile for the both of them and poked her nose once, quickly.

“What’s on your mind, Tasha?”

The agent inhaled and exhaled slowly, bright eyes stuck on Orion’s belt. The words stuck in her mind, in her mouth, gluing her jaw shut. Clint knew everything about her, but it was still difficult to share too much. The Red Room had made sure of that.

“I’m thinking of leaving the country since I blew all of my covers.”

He stiffened but did not protest. It had happened before.

“But I’m worried about Steve… about the team, about you…”

She could almost hear his smile. It was frustrating. She furrowed her brow to demonstrate her distaste in his body language, though not without fondness.

“Oh, Tasha.” He chuckled. “Shh, c’mere…” he murmured, and drew her into his arms.

“I love you, Natasha Romanoff,” he said after a long pause.

“I know,” she replied.

And for just a moment, all of her worries were gone, and their love was as bright as the stars.


	6. Wanda/Vision #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can trust me." - for Wanda/ Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I immensely enjoyed writing this one.

Wanda Maximoff did not trust easily. Even before Ultron’s deception, she was not one to assign credibility to a stranger. Her brother, more lenient yet still caged, often regarded this aspect of her personality with some interest, though never enough to cause strife between them. But she had paid the ultimate price with his death, and would not make the mistake to trust again.

She surprised herself when she accepted the invitation to become an Avengers. Perhaps it was some continuing obligation to Clint Barton, a man for whom her twin was willing to die, a man who had proclaimed her a member of a team she had vowed to destroy. Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was simply the need for company now that half of her soul had been stricken from her body.

Though she recognized that it was childish, she avoided Vision while becoming a companion to her fellow Avengers. A constant beside Natasha, James, Sam, or even Steve, she knew her absence was obvious. She could not, however, quell her aversion to him, despite how all beings, including her, felt inexplicably drawn to his awesome intelligence.

It was not for complicated reasons, this indisposition toward her teammate. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she would prefer to have, if not a friendly, then at least a cordial, relationship with Vision. He boasted unparalleled intellect, wit, and athletic abilities.

But he was too close to the things she had lost. A robot above all else, he had copied at least a piece of everyone’s personality, and when she saw him sneaking candy out of the kitchen, she cried for an hour.

She could also not trust him because of his creator, which was no fault of his own. Tony Stark was a difficult and troubled man; she had seen his mind and sympathized immensely after she had forsaken using his fears to assist Ultron. Ultron, the maniacal machine, the carbon copy of Stark if he had been pushed too far over the edge. His foil, his parallel. And he created Vision. Tony’s vision, Ultron’s vision, it did not matter, and she did not trust it.

And in the corner of her mind, she loathed her animosity, because the root of it was so childish.

Vision had rescued her after she had died. Resigned to, at least. Sokovia was in ruins, falling away beneath her, and she felt nothing but agony. Yet he pulled her from the rubble and flew her to safety, to a new home and a new life. She was empty, hadn’t he seen? Hadn’t he seen that her heart only beat to rip another’s heart out just as hers had been? Of course she was thankful for life now, but then? Then, she cursed him for not leaving her to join Pietro.

Training was the only area in which contact with Vision was inevitable. She kept her spars with him brief, only extending them upon the Captain or Widow’s request. They said very little to each other, her pretending it was simply intense focus that kept her lips closed. It was somewhat believable, as stabilizing her magic took much energy and awareness, so her fellows allowed it.

Combat with Vision did have its appeals, as no other was a better match in magical capabilities. It was there that he spoke to her for the first time in almost a week, mouth close to her ear, breath lifting her hair. She had lost concentration and been too weary, and he had pinned her beneath a knee balanced with careful pressure.

“You can trust me,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. Red sparks flew from her fingertips, her control vanishing with those four momentous words. And then we was gone, leaving an echo of his voice in the air, in her mind.

Wanda Maximoff did not trust easily.

But Vision had just earned it.


	7. Stony #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stony and "I'm sick of being useless."

Tony observed Steve with mounting frustration. One, two, one two–quick fists flew against the mounted bag. Sweat dripped in rhythm under the other man’s collar, tracing his tanned muscles almost obscenely. He glanced at his own hands, still shaking from the nightmare from which he had recently awoken, and the corners of his mouth turned down. A deep heat seared in Tony’s stomach, and he couldn’t even place its source. So he watched.

Steve didn’t notice his husband for some time. He was lost in the rhythm of his hands on the coarse material. When he did, he didn’t tear his eyes from the ragged and faded object that was bearing his pain.

Steve’s voice was rough from disuse. It broke the air between punches, but it was constrained, hushed, exhausted. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep, or couldn’t sleep with me?”

Steve stiffened but remained mobile. One, two, one– Tony stepped beside him, put a hand on his neck. Breathed. Waited.

When Steve finally ceased his movements, tears pricked in his eyes. Face burning, he looked down. The floor was dappled with his sweat and dust, still settling from the last time Tony blew a hole in the ceiling with one of his prototypes. He almost laughed.

“I’m sick of being useless,” Steve muttered. His lip quivered, and he bit it. The shaking of his muscles he could blame on the exercise, but this–this was sheer terror, and it was almost as horrifying as watching his husband sweat and shake and scream in his sleep.

Tony had been officially diagnosed with PTSD one month prior, but a doctor’s words and some definitions on paper didn’t alleviate anything. Medication, therapy, vacation–recommendations that were useless to a man married to his work. Steve had attempted everything he could. He had overcome his own to some extent and worked with various others to combat their trauma, and he thought he could do the same for Tony. But the only result was losing the one thing in the world he couldn’t live without.

Steve could feel it. The despair, the sense of confinement, the need to be liberated. Tony was slipping away.

“Don’t.” Tony took another step forward.

“I can’t lose you, Tony.”

“You’re not going to.” But his tone was lifeless. His words were empty.

Steve held his breath and turned to face Tony, still unable to meet his eyes. “I already have.”

Bullets hurt less.

Tony’s composure shattered. He collapsed into Steve, letting his limbs convulse, overburdened and weak. Leaning into his husband, Steve’s body surrounded the other man as wholly as his frame would allow. It wasn’t enough. “I don’t know what to do,” Tony whispered into Steve’s neck. Repeating it like a mantra, he allowed his body to settle, no longer able to maintain the guise of nonchalance.

“Let me help you. Let me not be useless. Tony. Tony, I love you. And you can leave me if you want, but I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” Grabbing Tony’s shoulders gently, he pushed the other man back until he was looking into eyes. ‘Tired’ was not an accurate word, but it was the only one Steve could think to use. Tony’s eyes were bloodshot, no longer the bright, coffee color Steve knew so well. His heart leapt to his throat and plummeted simultaneously. “Do you understand me?”

Tony sighed. And then he inhaled. It was a deep, warming breath that filled his lungs with the scent of charcoal and salt and sunlight. He let it fill him and basked in the feeling until his nerves were no longer burning.

“Captain America saves his darling in distress, the sun rises, the sky is blue.” A chuckle escaped his throat. “Tony Stark, sobbing billionaire philanthropist.” The numbness of his bones finally subsided.

Steve let a slight smile settle on his face. Fingers threaded through Tony’s hair, he slid his nails between the strands and gently over his scalp, slowly, following the other man’s breaths. “Tony.”

“Mm?” His voice was barely audible.

“Let’s go back to bed.”

“Yes, sir, Captain Rogers.” Tony pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s mouth, pulling away before a yawn broke over his features. He followed it with an exaggerated stretch, flexing and laughing as he stepped backward toward the door. Steve recognized it as defense immediately, but he was unable to stop the grin that emerged when he saw that familiar swagger. He could mention it later. For now–

“Rogers, you keep licking your lips like that, we’ll need to find something else to do with that mouth.

Yes. Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack during and inspiration for this one: "10am Gare Du Nord" by Keaton Henson


	8. Steve/Nat Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the anonymous Halloween prompt: " Can you do platonic Steve/Nat in a haunted house/forest? :)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

The shrieks of children filled the air, those happy, shrill sounds resounding through the chilled air. Crisp autumn leaves scuffled along with the feet of the young, the old, and everyone in between. Some dragged their feet, some scurried, some walked, and some limped. The lumbering zombies and the dashing vampires ran amok on Halloween night, and Steve Rogers was stuck in the middle of them.

“Look, Steve, that one is dressed as Captain America.”

Steve followed a long finger to the edge of the crowd, where a little girl stood with brown hair down her back and a hand-made red, white, and blue suit on her small frame. Her wide brown eyes were covered in blue mask, white wings on the side. Every detail was perfect.

Steve smiled fondly and waved, earning a jump from the lone girl, her mouth falling open in shock. He saluted her and turned back to Natasha.

“Lead the way, Ma’am,” he said, before his brown furrowed. “Where are we going, again?”

Natasha grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the throngs to a more secluded spot of town. They walked on until the music faded and only a few people were still in sight, her humming some Halloween song that he had yet to learn.

The soldier in him stirred suspiciously, but he refused to question to his friend. He trusted her with his life, so he should trust her with a holiday activity.

When he recalled that birthday prank, forever, he dug his heels into the ground and she was instantly catapulted backwards by his weight.

Sensing his apprehension, she smirked. Her red hair was in a tight bun, hidden mostly under a dark green army helmet. First edition Steve, she called the costume. Bucky hadn’t stopped laughing when he saw her.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’re supposed to be the ‘bravest man in America’ and all that–what are you afraid of, ghosts?”

Cackling, Nat punched Steve lightly on his bicep. “Come on,” she tugged on him, her unsurprising strength inching him forward despite his best efforts.

“Does that say ‘haunted forest’?” he inquired, an unmistakable crack in his deep voice. He gestured to purposefully decrepit sign, its title written in cherry red ‘blood.’

Natasha’s laughter grew more pronounced as her friend frowned, and she grabbed a low hanging branch to support herself as her entire body shook with mirth.

Steve huffed. “You know what–”

Whatever explanation or excuse he had planned was interrupted by annoying snickers as a pack of pre-teens sped by, reveling in their store-bought costumes and stolen booze and cheap candy. One stopped to stare at the two Avengers, albeit with no mark of recognition in his pockmarked face.

“What are you supposed to be, a stripper?” he asked Steve.

The Captain shrugged and replied smoothly, “Black Widow,” not one bit self-conscious in the form-fitting black bodysuit. “Whose costume, by the way, does not look like a stripper’s.”

“Cool, man. Point taken,” the kid said. He nodded at the foggy path to the haunted destination, sprinkled with signs warning travelers to turn back and clever graves. “You goin’ in there?”

“Duh,” Nat answered for them. “If I can get this big baby to go with me, that is.”

“It’s hella spooky, dudes. Definitely recommend it.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Nat said, whirling on her companion. “Well?” she prompted.

“Fine!” he exclaimed, “But you _so_ owe me.” 

“Depends on the favor. And you never know, you could have fun.”

 

…

 

On November first, a video of Captain America screaming through a haunted forest hit YouTube and broke the record for most viewed four times over.

She never took it down.


End file.
